Suffocation
by Merlin's Neckerchief
Summary: Sherlock and Donovan are kidnapped by someone who buries his victims alive.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock slowly became aware of someone slapping at his face and calling something out. Groaning, he batted the offending hands away weakly, mumbling protest. He opened his eyes, to find his vision blurred. Blinking slowly, his vision cleared progressively. He was dismayed to see the person was in fact, Sally Donovan.

"C'mon freak," she muttered. Sherlock caught her hand, as she went to tap his face again.

"Stop it. I'm fine." The consulting detective was puzzled to see Donovan roll her eyes, as she sat back.

"Right, that's why you were out for," she glanced down at her watch, "four hours. You must be perfectly fine."Donovan's voice oozed sarcasm. Sherlock's eyes widened, as he struggled to sit up.

"What?" He never slept more than an hour at a time. Donovan moved back several more inches to allow Sherlock to move. "I've been drugged." Obviously. His mind was sluggish, as though he had been injected with something.

"Don't you remember what happened?" Donovan raised her eyebrow. Her soft brown eyes stared at him intently, as he tried to remember.

"No, nothing. I don't remember anything. This isn't right, I always remember EVERYTHING." Sherlock was breathing deeply, desperately trying to remember. A crime scene. John. Lestrade. The park. "Crime scene in the park. John and Lestrade were there…"

"Yeah. Nothing else?" Sherlock shook his head, unused to not having the answers. Donovan looked at him, a lack of hatred and loathing in her eyes. "You saw someone running away, and followed them. I went after you… I found you with the man behind a building a street away." She paused, and Sherlock motioned impatiently for her to continue. "He was standing over you; I think he had already drugged you." Donovan looked down at her hands, which lay curled in her lap. "You both saw me. You told me to run, but he hit you repeatedly… After you were unconscious, he pointed the gun at you, telling me he would kill you if I ran."

Sherlock was confused: that wasn't what the Donovan he knew would do. She would've run. "Why didn't you run?"

Her gaze hardened as Donovan looked back up at him. "I don't hate you that much, freak."

"Obviously." Sherlock looked around, eyeing their surroundings. "I suspect you already tried to find a way out." He stood; brushing dust off his clothing. The room the pair was in was about 6 by 6 metres, the ceiling well above Sherlock's head. A few dim lights lit the space, and a strong aroma of rot permeated the air. "The victims. John said that they appeared to have suffocated. The killer doesn't have contact with his victims after he takes them." Sherlock started pacing. "He blindfolded you. Placed us both in this room." As he spoke, he gestured to a dark blue cloth that Donovan had abandoned in a corner.

"So, what? He leaves us here until we die?"

"Looks like it."

"Do you think he's watching us?" Donovan looked around.

"Definitely," Sherlock stated promptly. "If he leaves his victims in here to die, but leaves them in parks, outside public buildings, etcetera, he must have eyes inside the room, somewhere. How long have we been in here?"

"About three hours." Donovan watched Sherlock as he held his hands up to his face, apparently thinking.

"I think we have enough air for about forty-eight hours." Sherlock paused. "There aren't any ways out of here, it would seem."

"So, what do we do?" Donovan had stood, crossing her arms.

Sherlock turned to her, grinning. "Hope John or Lestrade can find us in time."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock sat in the corner of the cement room, his eyes shut and his hands held up by his face. He had escaped to his mind palace in an attempt to pass the time. Donovan was seated opposite him, watching as Sherlock's chest rose and fell evenly. It had been five hours since Sherlock woke, leaving them with forty hours before their time was up.

"When was the last time you ate?" Donovan jumped marginally, as he spoke. Sherlock's silvery blue green eyes studied her carefully.

"Dinner earlier. Had some take away."

"Good," Sherlock murmured, the slightest trace of a smile on his face, as he shut his eyes. Donovan was confused; the detective's voice lacked its usual venom. She shuffled over to Sherlock's side of the room, settling next to him.

"What about you?"

"Sorry what?" Sherlock's blue green eyes reappeared, flicking over to Donovan.

"When was the last time YOU ate?"

Sherlock paused before responding, "About nine days ago." Donovan looked at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. She knew he neglected to look after himself, but this was ridiculous. No wonder he was so thin, she thought, eyeing his thin frame. "Don't worry about me Sally."

"Who said I cared about you, freak?" Donovan shot back as she crossed her arms, frustrated that he saw through her so easily.

"Nobody said you did," Sherlock smirked. He lowered his hands and wrapped his arms around his body. Donovan did the same, as the temperature in the room seemed to be dropping slowly.

_Thirty-six Hours Left_

When Donovan started to shiver, Sherlock stood, pulling his coat off. Donovan watched, opening her mouth to protest, as he covered her with the coat.

"What happened to being a sociopath?"

"That doesn't mean I'm not capable of compassion," Sherlock retorted, dropping back onto the floor and curling in on himself on the cold floor. Donovan watched him as his eyes slipped shut. She pulled Sherlock's coat closer around herself, closing her own eyes.

Twenty-Six _Hours_

Sherlock watched as Donovan started awake, scrambling to sit up. Sherlock's coat slipped to the floor, as she looked around hurriedly, her gaze landing on Sherlock.

"How long was I asleep?" asked Donovan, rubbing her eyes.

"About ten hours." Sherlock said simply. He stood, stretching his legs. Donovan did the same, trying to hand Sherlock his coat. "No. Keep it for now." He started walking around the room, as Donovan slipped the coat over her shoulders.

"How much longer do you think we ha-"

"Twenty-six hours. Don't worry, John will find us," Sherlock murmured.

"Of course they'll find us," Donovan said, trying to reassure herself with a smile.

_Nineteen Hours_

Sherlock stood and began to examine the walls, edging around the room. He ran his hands over them carefully, looking for a door of some kind. Donovan sat huddled in one of the corners, watching the detective.

"What are you doing?"

"If they find us, it would be best to not be blocking the door, or whatever."

"Oh. Right," Donovan fell silent.

Minutes later, Sherlock cried out in triumph. He backed away from the wall. "Found it!"

"The door?" Donovan berated herself for asking. Of course he found the door. Sherlock glanced over at her, before looking back to the wall.

"If John or Lestrade find where we are, they will come through here." Sherlock was talking to himself, almost ignoring Donovan again. Sherlock sat down opposite the door, his eyes sliding shut. He started to shiver slightly.

_Seventeen Hours_

Donovan jerked to a sitting position, when Sherlock groaned. The detective hadn't moved from his spot, though he was now shivering violently. The cold temperature of the room and his lack of food seemed to have gotten to him at last.

"Sherlock?"


	3. Chapter 3

_OMG I AM SO SORRY. SO SORRY. I honestly did NOT mean to leave you guys hanging for seven months. HONESTLY. So uh… Here's chapter 3. _

Donovan scrambled over to Sherlock. The detective had his arms wrapped tightly around himself, trying to keep warm. Obviously, that was failing.

"Sherlock?" Donovan laid her hand on his arm, and he tried pulling away. To her dismay, Sherlock seemed to be burning up.

She slipped Sherlock's coat off her shoulders, sitting down on the floor. She pulled Sherlock closer to herself, wrapping the coat around the detective. Sherlock opened his eyes, and looked up at Donovan.

"Y-you're going to get cold," Sherlock tried to protest, starting to shrug off his coat, his breathing slow and shallow.

"It doesn't matter at this point," Donovan retorted. Sherlock rolled his eyes, before closing them again, Donovan pushed her hair behind her ears, watching the detective that lay shivering in her arms. "It's going to be okay, Sherlock. Just you see. John and Lestrade will find us."

"I-I know t-that."

"Oh hush you," Sally murmured, looking up at the wall, where the faint outline of the door could be seen.

_Ten Hours_

Donovan started awake, to find Sherlock lying in the other corner. The first thing she noticed was that he was no longer wearing the coat, and had covered Donovan with it. Swearing under her breath, she stood, walking over to the detective. She bent down, and pressed her fingers against his neck. She was alarmed to find his pulse was rather weak, and his breathing was scarily slow.

"Sherlock, c'mon. Wake up!" Donovan quickly shed the coat – yet again – and covered Sherlock with it and dropped to the ground, pulling him close to her. Sherlock didn't even stir. She held him tightly, hoping their friends would get to them in time, if they found them at all.

_Five Hours_

Donovan was freezing now, but not nearly as the still unconscious Sherlock. She thought she heard some noise, possibly from outside the room, but she was unsure. She glanced at the door hopefully, as though it would fly open. It almost seemed as though it were harder to breathe.

A few moments passed. There was a faint tapping noise audible. The tapping became louder, and Donovan's head snapped up, in the direction of the door. Gently, Sally laid Sherlock down on the ground, and dashed to the wall, pressing her ear against it. She could hear the faint sound of voices. She pounded on the wall with her fists.

"HELP! WE'RE IN HERE," She shouted repeatedly. The opening of the room remained sealed. Suddenly, Donovan could hear pounding, on the other side of the wall. She smiled widely, and went back to Sherlock.

"They're here, Sherlock." she said with a worried look. She ran her fingers through his hair. "Just hold on…"

_Four Hours_

Donovan knew now, that it was both John and Lestrade who was trying to get inside the room. The two men were making progress on getting inside the room, and had been able to talk through the thinner wall. She was sitting with Sherlock again, his head resting in her lap. He didn't seem to be getting any worse… or better for that matter. However, Donovan was starting to have a more difficult time breathing, and knew they were running out of air.

The way Sherlock was breathing, Sally knew, wasn't helping, with the lack of air. Sherlock turned his head slightly, but remained unconscious.

A muffled, "Sally!" came from the wall, suddenly, and she dashed to the other side of the room.

"Yeah?"

"We're almost through; how's Sherlock?" It was John.

"Not good, he's not breathing right, and he most definitely has hypothermia… I think…"

John swore, then said something to Lestrade that was lost to Donovan. "Donovan? Stand back, now."

Donovan moved backwards a couple feet, just as part of the wall shattered, revealing a dust-covered John, who was holding a hammer in his hand. Donovan eagerly sucked in the fresh air that seemed to gush in instantly, grateful to be breathing fresher air. And almost instantly, the temperature seemed to rise, even if slightly.

John and Lestrade broke a bigger hole in the wall, and John clambered inside, quick as he could.

"We need to get him to a hospital," John said to Lestrade who had followed the doctor inside. John checked Sherlock's pulse, pressing his fingers to the detective's neck, as Sally had done earlier. Sally now stood over John, watching him. "Lestrade, call an ambulance. NOW."

Lestrade hurried to do so, and John turned back to Sherlock.

"I just hope we found you two in time," he said, looking up at the hovering Donovan.

"Me too…"  
If John was surprised, he didn't show it.


End file.
